Michael: Progressive Resolutions

Beautiful white skies
With luminous blue holes
Letting in moonshine.

Wednesday, December 27, 2017

Before I race in the states in May I plan on loosing my 5 traditional holiday pounds. This usually isn’t a problem as just as the holidays end, the dry season begins here and it’s much easier to get out on longer rides and runs.
But just to make it interesting and try to speed the process along, I’m going to up the ante and incentivize the process by doing something I don’t believe I’ve ever tried before; give up chocolate!

 However, if haven’t lost the weight by the end of February, I’m going to throw in another gut wrenching (pun intended) resolution and vow to cut my panaderia pastry indulgence from four down to two. Right now I go treat myself when I go to the gym and after a bike ride. I’ll cut out the pastries on gym days after February if I’m I don’t hit the scale below a sleek 145.

These sacrifices will be the most tangible changes I’ve ever made to demonstrate to myself how serious I am about competing this year. The small rewards of chocolate and sweet bread have long been an everyday treat in my life. Maybe I could give them up forever, but I’m sure hoping I don’t have to choose for long between giving them up and getting back to my race weight.

Michael: A Field Trip for Christmas

Bearded chins and horns
With slanted eyes like the devil;
Goats are bizarre beasts.

Monday, December 25, 2017

It’s been quite a while since I’ve been on a good old fashioned field trip, probably not as long as most since I was an elementary teacher just 5 years ago, and it was a real treat not be responsible for a bunch of excited little kiddies on a bus and at a museum for a change. And as a bonus, this was my first tour of a real good old fashioned small working farm.

Goats are not all that common here in Panama as this is by and large cattle country, and even in the states I never got up close and personal with the funky looking beasts. But Marta, the farmer along with her husband, seems to really enjoy their 40 animals along with all the challenges of building and growing a small profitable business.

Their goals are to eventually establish their farm as a eco/tourist and educational center. I’m not sure I’d go out of my way to visit Panama for a week or weekend working with goats. Not that hanging around them for a few hours was off putting at all, but I’m not a country boy by nature. But if I was, they do have a beautiful set up and I hope it grows into the venture they are dreaming it will become.

Michael; Invaders

The banana’s heart;
Hanging plumb orb, brings the fruit
Within a hand’s grasp.

Thursday, December 21, 2017

Bugs, entering my domain, was one of my biggest fears when moving here to Panama. But for the most part we’ve kept to our separate domiciles and have lived in relative peace outside of a few bites when I’ve crossed over into their territory and a few mass killings when they’ve dared to enter my home.

Mostly, it’s been fruit flies, occasionally ants, along with a few termites and field crickets drop by in seasonal fashion. Though the longer we’ve lived here, the fewer less dramatic these invasions have become.

Oddly, now at the beginning of the dry season, we’re having a daily migration of decent sized ants coming in and dying overnight, like beached whales. This is the first time in our three years living here this phenomenon has occurred. Unless this gets far worse or continues for more than a few weeks, I’m not going to research it. I’ll just continue to sweep up and hope one day a you tube blurb, or an X-Files: Mini Home Invader Addition, will pop up when I’m browsing about, and explain it to me.

Michael: Migratory Birders

Enveloped by clouds
The dark heart of the mountain
Suffers in silence.

Monday, December 18, 2017

It’s that time of year when the Wispy White Hairs begin to appear in the forests of Panama.

Actually, it’s somewhat of a relief for me to see groups of birders out on the trails. After such a heavy rainy season, I figured sighting them was a good indication that the Quetzal trail was in decent enough shape to run through end to end. I haven’t given that a shot for a couple of months, and usually after such a long spell of rain I would expect that enough large trees would’ve fallen and enough slides would’ve occurred to require quite a bit of clearing by the tour guides and/or Panama’s rangers before it was passable.

I was both right and wrong. The trail was in the worst shape it’s ever been in our three years here. And once I hit a downed staircase I turned around as it looked like a very iffy prospect to try and get through. But then I ran into a dude from Colorado who told me it wasn’t that difficult of a scramble and I had to humbly eat my trail bona fides as this rookie tourist showed me that I was wrong about the trail being impassable. It wasn’t easy mind you, but it was doable.

Hopefully, in the coming weeks the guides and rangers will get out there and clean it up a bit and make it a bit easier for both us graying trail runners and the intrepid birders.

Michael: Finally

The mountain’s backbone
Is covered with puffy clouds
Like a ponytail.

Saturday, December 17, 2017

After a very long rainy season, I was finally able to get outside on my bike and face the stress test of a first ride after a pretty gnarly accident.

Did I pass? I kind of hope not. The feel of riding can be very exuberant. I see kids racing to school all the time that are completely enjoying the experience of what it is to ride fast and care free. I know I don’t feel that way and haven’t really felt that way for a long time now, and that’s both a loss and a hopeful sign I have obtained some wisdom.

Yes, I still do enjoy the rush of speed either created by muscle, gravity or both. But I feel so much more relief now when the terrain takes an upward slant and the world slows down enough for me to appreciate the landscape and the suffering involved in grinding up a substantial hill. My mindset hasn’t completely reversed. I don’t grind on the brakes downhill like an old grandpa completely yet, but I do make much more judicious use of my brakes then I use to.

I’m also able to appreciate the irony in the notion that what I once saw as kind of the nuisance part of a ride; getting up a hill so you can speed down the other side, is now the focal point of the ride for me and the downhill has now become more of the incidental or even dreaded part of the ride.

In some ways accidents and recoveries are a good analogy for the wising up that’s suppose to take place with maturing; weighing the risks against the benefits. I suppose that mechanism is even buried somewhere deep inside kids, it just seems to become substantially more complex as we get older and our responsibilities pile up along with our memories that now have longer histories to reflect back upon.

Michael: Talking During a Movie

The tambourine trees
Clamor throughout the long night
Of blustery winds.

Friday, December 15, 2017

On Wednesday Kimme and I went on one of our rare social outings and attended the Spiritual Cinema. At the small gathering of about 15 people, held at a very cordial couple’s house in the beautiful rolling hills just south of Volcan, Kimme was the second youngest member of the audience at 48. There was also a 30 year old there. And, even at 59, I was on the younger end of the spectrum.

Given this small sampling, and also given the fact that many of these people were friends or long time acquaintances of each other, I don’t want to draw any hard and fast conclusions about old people talking to the screen or to each other during a showing, but what I witnessed does concern me.

It concerns me because I’ve always felt like a bit of an old style Andy Rooney type curmudgeon when it comes to talking while watching any type of program. (And I know the reference to Andy Rooney and even the use of the archaic term ‘curmudgeon’ only serves to reinforce what an old grump I’ve always been.).

Ironically, that’s why, starting in my late teens, I would often drive to L.A. from the O.C. to go to foreign films in the dinky screening rooms at the Beverly. These films were usually sparsely attended by well mannered older people. Please, lord, don’t tell me that’s changing.

Thankfully, I’m not at all concerned that I might make it a habit of talking back to fictional characters or commenting about them to other audience members. But I am afraid that I could get grumpy enough to shush people or even slap my forehead in disgust and shout out , “Damned you old buzzards,  can’t you at least stop your cackling until the show’s over?”

Michael: What's Thirst?

The spider web cloud
Catches the rays of the sun
In a deadly grip.

Thursday, December 14, 2017

In order to prep myself for the long summer workouts that should begin any day now, it’s taking forever for the rainy season to end this year, I decided to refresh my enthusiasm and increase my knowledge for training and racing by reading Runner’s World’s The Runner’s Body. However, after having just read the chapter on hydration, I feel a bit confused and unsure of what I should do when it comes to fluid intake.

According to RW I should let thirst be my guide, but after years of conditioning myself to drinking a few ounces of water every 15 minutes or so, I’m not sure I can or want to think about when I’m thirsty. Training and racing are hard enough and the less I’ve got to think about the better. I’m pretty happy with just setting an alarm on my Timex and drinking on the quarters and eating in the halves.

With that problem set aside, the question then becomes what to drink? According to the book our sweat is less salty then our plasma so it would follow that to edge the body back toward stasis and optimize fluid absorption we should drink a fluid that has less of an electrolyte/water mix than the plasma coursing through our veins.  Thankfully, that seems to be in tune with my new favorite racing drink - Skratch Labs. I know Dr. Stacy Sims (I’ll get to her book Roar soon.), and others are also proponents of throwing in just a touch of sugar, and Skratch Labs does include a dash of sugar.

Skratch Labs’ individual packets are a bit on the expensive side though and not readily available here in Panama, so here I sometimes flavor my water with just a splash of coffee and on runs and rides over two hours carry salt chews with me.

The one big carry away that I took from the book on hydration is that, from a performance standpoint, it’s far better to error on the side of drinking too little than drinking too much, which is a huge stress reliever for me as I always lose a good few pounds on long runs and no longer feel a need to try to drink as much as possible while I’m moving along.

Michael: Consistency, Endurance, Novelty and Improvement

Lemon tail feathers,
Black body and yellow beak-
Oropendola.

Sunday, December 10, 2017

Today we were suppose to return to the Quetzal trail for the first time in a couple of months. The rainy season should’ve been over and the trail decent enough to make it a challenging run instead of a warrior slog through mud, slippery rocks, broken stairs and downed trees. But it hasn’t stopped raining just yet. In fact it rained hard last night and is still at it right now, so we decided to reschedule for next week.

So instead of sliding outside I’ll be sliding inside on my slide board then do a kettle bell workout. With the rest of time that’s freed up from not spending 5 or so hours away from home, I’m going to think about working out hard and what I need to do to improve my  performance for next year.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the adage, “Only a fool expects to obtain different results by doing the same thing over and over.” As that pertains to distance running, I believe that means just going longer and longer at the same pace is only going to take me so far.

So this year I’m going to mix it up, but not with a grab bag of random workouts. The way to go, I feel, is to throw in some novelty that’s anchored by a consistently progressive framework.

To that end I’m going to do speedwork twice a week; once on the flats and the other on a hill. Each month I’ll do progressively longer pick ups beginning with 1 minute hard efforts increasing a minute per month. Within the month, however, as a way of measuring my improvement and determining the effects of my training, I’ll alternate between one week of the increasing speedwork with a week of one minute flat/hill workouts whose parameters won’t change except, hopefully, I’ll be able to eek out a little bit more distance per minute every month within that hard minute of running.

Regardless of the value of mixing things up once in a while, it’ll still be a joy to get back out on our old reliable trails, like the Quetzal, if and when it ever stops raining here.

Michael: The Outside Solution

Beautiful white sky
With luminous blue holes
Letting in the moonshine.

Thursday, December 7, 2017

Every year, as the rainy season approached it’s long end, we’ve had plumbing issues if you know what I mean. Our first two years here we went the chemical route and at least twice a month dumped a canister of Potasa down the toilet. This year we decided to see if there was a more natural way of solving our septic woes. There was. It worked, and the irony is it would also be a good fix for when we move back to water thirsty S. California. But, I’m afraid, due to social constraints, it’s no longer a viable option either in water soaked Volcan or back in drought prone Los Angeles.

The fix was to water ration by only flushing after taking our morning constitutional, then having Kimme use the toilet to urinate during the rest of the day and not flushing, while I went pee out in the garden during the day and used the bathroom sink at night. Using this system we didn’t have any problems with the toilet all rainy season.

However, we now have neighbors so the weed killer solution is no longer viable. It’s back to indoor plumbing.

In drought conditions in California I bet using a sink would save a great deal of water, but I don’t know if I’d feel comfortable going that route. It would be interesting though to get an estimate on how much water would be saved by people using that option.

If we ever build a house, we’re going to avoid that dilemma completely by installing compost toilets and perhaps a urinal or a have a yard with a very tall and private fence.

Michael: Trials and Trails

Beautiful white sky
With luminescent blue holes
Letting in moonshine.

Monday, December 4, 2017

Due to various injuries and a long rainy season, yesterday was the first time in two months Kimme and I have run any single track. Boy, was it good to be huffing and puffing out there again.

For me, just about every trail run is both an adventure and a chance to test out either some new equipment or hydration/nutrition process. Yesterday I got lucky and struck pay dirt on both accounts.

On the adventure side, toward the end of my jaunt on the Baru trail, I heard a substantial rustling in the bushes off to the side of me and got a quick glimpse of a tayra, a medium dog sized all black weasel like creature. It’s one of the few large wild animals still hiding out in the cloud forests around here.

On the experimental side, I tested out a new nutrition snack; a bite sized peanut butter and jelly chew wrapped in a half of a small white tortilla. I took two with me wrapped in foil and ate one each the first two hours of the uphill run. I figured if they didn’t bother me on a hard uphill at the beginning of the run, I could start rotating them in on a regular basis on my long ride and trail runs. Success, no aches, no pains, no gagging or snorting, and no bonk.

One disappointment was my hardly used Nike Terra Kiger 3s. It seems the soft nubs under my forefoot are wearing far more quickly than I had hoped. I’ve only got about 100 mostly trail miles on them and I doubt they’ll hold up for another 100 without going completely slick under the balls of my feet. I was really hoping these would hold up as a trainer for the entire year, but now I’m probably going to be looking for a new shoe in a couple of months. They are very comfortable, but I’m sure glad I waited until they were on sale.

On the brighter side of the trail, Panama has invested in few new trail markers that should relieve some of the “Am I on the trail?” anxiety to any newcomers out there.

Michael: Kicking the Resolution Tires

The clouds and the stars
Restless in the dark morning
Waiting for the dawn.

Saturday, December 2, 2017

This year I’ve decided to get a jump on a few new year’s resolutions by trying them out in December. That way if they don’t take hold I won’t have to claim them on my resolution deduction form for 2018.

On the dietary side, I’m going to go without cheese and yogurt and see what happens. I’m also going to stick to 5 mini pieces of chocolate a night. If I can hold to those, this might actually turn out to be the first December where I was able to lose weight.

On the exercise end of the scale, I’d like to start doing one long ride and run again every week. That should also help with the body fat percentage which I’d be overjoyed with I could ever get it to dip under 11% again.

Those are the easy resolutions to think of and implement. I do have some work related/ mental challenges in the works, but I haven’t solidified them into concrete performance statements or result standards as of yet except for my resolution to do daily deep breathing and posture exercises to replace the 5 minutes of daily meditation I gave up on a few months ago.

And on the spiritual front, I haven’t ever been very successful at developing, let alone implementing, any resolutions worth mentioning. And maybe that’s not so troubling as it’s hard to think of spiritual resolutions to be as visceral as physical challenges like not eating cheese. Like would it make sense to say that I’m going to withhold 10% of my sarcastic thoughts at least until the president has completely finished whatever mangled message he’s trying to convey?

Michael: Healed?

Beautifully quiet;
The darkness of the morning
Is a surrender.

Wednesday, November 29, 2017

It was exactly two months ago that I fell off  my bike and had to have 30 stitches to close the gash that ran from my upper lip up through my nose. The doctor at the time told me that it would take this long to heal. He was 90% correct.

Initially I thought it was going to take much less as the swelling all pretty much went away within the first three weeks and I pretty much looked back to normal except for a small scar above my upper lip. However some swelling inside my mouth and a lump in my lip and under my nose were still present. The swelling has now completely subsided but the lumps remain. They don’t prevent me from doing anything. I can now finally drink from a water bottle without drooling like my I had just come out of having a filling, and I can eat an apple again, though not with quite the uninhibited vigor I once enjoyed.

I’m hopeful that the lump under my nose will still slowly heal, but I’m a bit more pessimistic about the lump in my lip and though I had secretly believed the scar on my lip might go away, that’s not going to happen without further intervention.

Sadly, as a bruise to my ego, that doesn’t seem like it will be necessary. That’s because as I’ve been out and about the past few months and run into people I know, no one has said a word about my change in appearance, or even looked at me in a puzzling way. So either they never took much notice of my looks in the first place, or the scar isn’t as visible as I think it is. Regrettably, I’m assuming it’s the former.

Michael: An Old Fashioned Barn Raising

A perfect darkness
Without any birds calling
Or crickets chirping.

Sunday, November 26, 2017

One good thing I’ll say about the new neighbors is they gave us our first live experience of what we’ve only experienced through watching Witness; a kind of old fashioned group of religious people getting together to fix up a neighbor’s new home.

There was a young guy on the roof applying goop to the bolts on the roof to water proof the metal roof, an older woman on the porch preparing food, some dudes have been working on the pvc water pipes, another dude cutting the grass, and I presume a bevy of women and the few children cleaning inside.

And this all starts with a few prayers and a couple acapella hymns. Not as techno as the background music in Witness but, nevertheless, just as inspiring to watch.

Michael: Spoiled

Rumble rumble car
Brings the music up the road
Before fading away.

Friday, November 25, 2017

For the most part, we’ve have been very lucky in our three years in Volcan to only have one really close neighbor, and that’s been our very good landlord. But that’s changing now, and though it’s understandable that a property owner isn’t going to let a house sit vacant just so I can have peace and quiet, I do find the prospect of new neighbors irritating.

At the moment it’s kind of hard to tell exactly who our new neighbors are. For the first few days there have been four adult women, two men, two children and a dog in and out of the less then 1,000 sq. foot casita. I’m sure most of them are family members just staying there the first few days to  help with the move in, but only time will tell who will end up there. I’m rooting for an older couple without the kids or the dog, but we’ll just have to see how it shakes out.

Looking at the good news/ bad news ledger at the start; The dog barks a lot. Maybe it’ll settle down once it’s familiar with it’s surroundings, or maybe it’s just a short term visitor, but I doubt that. On the good news side, at least they’ve been taking it in at night so it doesn’t bark through the night.

They also haven’t cranked up any tunes to work to. Living with a booming base beat is and always has been my concept of hell. It’s encouraging that  no one there seems to have a boom box. That doesn’t mean it’ll stay that way, but at least they don’t seem addicted to living to a loud rhythm like so many people are no matter where I’ve lived.

It’s possible that we have at least a good nine months left here. We’ve lived the majority of that in peace. I hope our good fortune will continue and our new neighbors will be as respectful of our privacy as we will be of theirs.

Michael: Rise and Shine

A random patter
Begins another morning
Of this long winter.

Thursday, November 23, 2017

Part of the jingle to Candid Camera, one of the original reality TV. shows, and one of my favorite shows while I was growing up, went “It’s fun to laugh at yourself. See yourself as others do.” I tend to agree with the first sentiment, but I’m having a problem admitting to the truth of the second sentence.

Over the years I have become more and more of an early riser. To the point where I often wake up at 4 and sleeping in would have me up at 6 at the latest. Getting up that early usually sees me in bed at 8:30 and on a “party” night I might make it up until 10.

I can laugh at how old fogie that sounds, but I hate to admit that as I approach 60, I may have become an old fogie.

Michael: Packages

Again the rain falls
As hard as an infant’s tears
Who’s lost his mother.

Tuesday, November 21, 2017

When we were kids shortly after Thanksgiving we would receive a big package from our aunts in Minnesota filled with tins of all kinds of various home made cookies and treats. Opening that big cardboard box was almost as exciting as opening presents on Christmas day. It was also one of the few times a package was delivered to our house and it was the only time a package came that wasn’t specifically designated for one of our parents.

Like many experiences of childhood, as I became an adult the shine of having packages delivered has worn off a bit. For one, living in Los Angeles, I became spoiled and would become agitated if a package wasn’t delivered after a couple of days.

For another, unlike my aunts’ yearly tins of goodies, I was ordering much more frequently and all the packages now arrived with an invoice reminding me that I had become my own year round favorite relative. So the smile on my face that accompanies opening packages was being tainted a bit with the accompanying worry frowns knowing how often and how much I was dinging my budget.

Now, having moved to the boonies of Panama, receiving packages has somewhat combined the experiences of my childhood and adulthood. Because it’s more expensive and time consuming, we rarely have anything shipped here. This year we had my mom ship to us twice. And because it’s a become a rarity again, it’s also more exciting again.

However, that thrill is still tainted by my footing the bill. Last week I was so excited about having my mom ship a package to us that I temporarily reverted to my childhood enthusiasm and forgot to ask her about everything that was being shipped.

That was a very costly mistake. Kimme had ordered a hardback book and a few other items that could’ve waited to be picked up when one us travels to the states. When the package arrived here, we were contacted by the shipping service that an invoice was required before they could ship it from Panama City to here in Volcan. The agent we talked to at Air Box Express told us that usually happens when packages weigh over 10 lbs. If I had taken a deep breath and relaxed instead of prancing around like a little expectant kid, I could’ve saved us a lot in customs and duty fees.

Damned those early childhood thrills!

Michael: Two Funerals

The two funeral
Processions move slowly pass
The gymnasium.

Sunday, November 19, 2017

I’ve seen more funerals pass me by here in Volcan in the past three years then I believe I saw in my whole life in Southern California. On Friday, while we were at the gym, we had the rare treat of witnessing back to back processions.

I’m not sure why most funerals seem to take place on Fridays. Perhaps it’s for practical reasons as it gives people a good excuse to take part of Friday off, so they can still save Saturdays for partying and Sundays for family and church. Kimme says this is being a little mean spirited and she‘s right. Last night there was one of those rare parties that went loudly until two in the morning so I’m writing this on a very sardonic two hours of sleep.

Regardless, all the funeral processions here in Volcan move from the main street out of town toward Cuesta de Piedra, which I know has at least three small burial grounds. But that would be a very long slow walk as it’s a good 9 miles away, so I’m presuming that once the outskirts of town are reached, either everyone hops in a car or there are closer cemeteries than just the ones I know of in Cuesta.

I suppose I could walk along and find out for myself; kind of Harold and Maude style, but I think I’ll just ask our coach at the gym next time we see a procession head on by.

Either way, it’s kind of quirky that while we’re in the gym trying to stave off the effects of aging and the inevitable that awaits us all, we’re privy to a lofty view of so many of the dead and their somber friends and relatives slowly passing by.

Michael: It's All Pipes

Delicious mornings
Are the long quiet shadows
Of evening stars.

November 15, 2017

Several months ago when our water pressure diminished to a daytime drip or was totally nonexistent, I chalked it up to bad city planning and figured it was just something we were going to have to live with the rest of our time here in Volcan.

I was also grateful that we had what almost all gringo homes have here, an auxiliary electric pump, or ‘bomba‘, as they‘re referred to here. Without it we often wouldn’t have any water and wouldn’t have been able to take a hot shower as our on demand hot water system won’t kick on without adequate pressure.

But this past weekend my assumption proved wrong. The problem was we were getting our water from an old pipe that has slowly clogged with dirt. The city switched us over to a new pipe and voila!, well, actually more like a subdued ‘yeah, we have daytime water and enough pressure to run a warm shower again without use of the pump.

I’m reasonably certain we’ll never have the jet engine pressure we were accustomed to in the states, but it sure is nice to know that when things go south, it’s not inevitable that they stay there, and sometimes things do get better relatively quickly and painlessly.

Michael: The Grand Total

It is beautiful;
The afternoon rain’s patter
A frenzy of peace.

November 12, 2017

On Friday I went to the dentist and had the small chip filled in from my bicycle accident 5 weeks ago. That brings to an end the medical procedures necessary to complete my recovery. The cost was $30 bringing the grand total medical costs to $585.

Outside of the medical cost, I’m replacing my helmet, a jersey and gloves. The costs of those items are $110 plus whatever shipping and customs will be.

At the moment the package from the states is being held up in a catch 22 in customs in Panama City. Customs wants an invoice of the goods, which is inside the box that I’d prefer they not open as it also contains a cashier’s check and a few other small items that could be easily lost. I’m sure I’ve gone through this before but I don’t recall how it was resolved. I’m hoping I can take care of it at the local office of the shipping company, Air Box Express. and they’ll convince customs to just take my word for what’s inside. That’ll be tomorrow’s living overseas adventure.

Michael: The Back of the Packers

Holidays are hell
And this week in Panama
They had two of them.

Sunday, November 5, 2017

I had planned on running a small local 12k race here this morning. A race that I can walk to the start right from our little cabana. But because it’s a very small local race there were no posters up stating what time the race started so I just figured I would count on it starting the same time it did last year. That was off by about an hour.

And because the race started an hour earlier, while I walked toward the start I got to see the very back of the packers slowly jog by my little dirt road as I walked out to warm up for the race that had just passed me by.

Since I was already dressed up for a run, what the hell. I decided to make the best of it and just go for a jog anyway. I can only vaguely remember bringing up the rear in a race and that was at a duathlon that was being run in waves and I missed mine by a few minutes and that’s about all I recall, as it was about 20 years ago and I was in a panic trying to catch up. Today I hadn’t paid for an expensive trip or even the small race fee and was only using the race as a substitute for my usual Sunday run, so it was a rare chance to run a race with people and just relax and not worry about pace or what not. And that was enjoyable.

What I found interesting from observing the few runners at the tail end of the race was that most of them seemed to be running with their heads down and as if they were performing penance for some unconfessed sins.

And although I felt like encouraging them to lift their heads up, at least they were out there for whatever reasons were motivating them. It’s not my place, I figure, to play sports trainer/psychologist on the go and exert what I believe to be the proper form/mindset on people who are out there making the effort. I doubt I would appreciate any stranger trying to clue me in on what they thought my mistakes were while I was in the middle of a run. We were all out there moving. And that’s what counts.

Michael: Chinita

Running from the moon
Is a useless endeavor
that feels radiant.

October 28, 2017

There are aspects of the culture here I’m sure I’d never understand no matter how long we stayed here or how well I learned Spanish. But there are bits and pieces that intrigue me and one of those is how the Chinese are treated here.

Yesterday, for example, while we were at a panderia run by Chinese immigrants, a lady waiting to pay for a drink called out, “Chinita” to get the clerk‘s attention. Now I know from experience, including the childhood experience of being called “Miguelito” at elementary school because there were three Michaels in the class, that the “ito/ita” suffix literally means “little” but I always thought that it sometimes had the connotation of liking or being familiar with.

So I found it curious that this woman would call out for the Chinese woman who ran the store using, “Chinita”. It seems both paradoxically nice and prejudicial. But in the states if you were to try getting a person of African American’s attention by calling out “little black person,” I’m sure it wouldn’t be taken as a term of endearment or as a harmless call like, “Excuse me, Miss”, would be.

Fortunately, Kimme does speak Chinese and she’s promised to ask the Chinese clerk how she feels about it. And as soon as we take up Spanish again with our teacher, I’m going to get her take on it as well.

Note: The night of the day I wrote this I was watching PBS News Hour on you tube and saw a report that stated that the Houston Astros first baseman, after hitting a homerun off a pitcher of Chinese descent, made slanted eyes with his hands and referred to the pitcher as “chinito.” This was reported as a derogatory term.

Michael: Solitude

Forever rain falls
From the gathering gray skies
Carrying us away.

Monday, October 23. 2017

Kimme and I crave solitude. We get it for the most part here, but we’re greedy and want more. That’s one of the reasons we’ll be returning to the states sometime in the near future.

Why are we more likely to find peace in the states?

Part of that, as I believe how a lot of life works, is dependant upon luck.
Kimme’s brother may offer us land to build on in the hill country in Texas. Land in our residence of preference, California, is expensive. But if things don’t work out in Texas we may investigate the boonies in California.

Another reason we feel more apt to find quiet in the states is that the buildings are quieter. I haven’t checked the world noise comparison chart, but it seems there enough loud people here per capita as we experienced in Southern California. The difference is in Southern California and Texas, because of construction that routinely makes use of insulation and double pained windows, it’s easier to shut out the noise in the states.

We also are just ignorant of what’s culturally acceptable here. But it does seem to us that though many of our neighbors are very considerate and quiet, they seem to tolerate the few loud neighbors much more so than what we were accustomed to in the states.

We don’t want the world, just a very small peaceful corner of it. We hope that’ll prove to be a possibility sometime in the near future in the good old U.S. of A.

Michael: Skin Deep?

Dirty brick buildings
Covered with new neon lights
Are where we are now.

Saturday, October 21, 2017

With my face healing from my accident and after having just read How the Body Knows It’s Mind, I’ve been thinking a lot about that old expression, “ Beauty is only skin deep”.

According to the author of the book, the body/mind interaction is a two way dialogue, with the use and condition of the body having a heavy influence on how we think and feel about the world and ourselves.

So now facing (pun intended) the prospect of my looks being slightly altered, I’m curious as to how the spiral of interactions between how people might subtly treat me differently and how I may inturn respond differently to said treatment … will spiral into subtle personality changes over time.
I’m sure with age that may happen anyway, and not just due to how our looks evolve, but also due to other physical changes like our slow degradation in physical abilities and not so readily apparent internal physical changes related to hormones and the like.

All of this is to say I’m grateful that the extent of my injuries are minor and the only long term effects may be some small scars on my face. But I was already worried about getting uglier and older, and scratching my face up is only going to speed up that process and exacerbate the worries.

But at least having the two remaining stitches removed from my lip yesterday that were hidden under some facial hair, didn’t cost me much financial stress - only $15. Still not quite done on that front as I haven’t visited the dentist yet about my chipped tooth.

So who’s to say what the total costs of a minor accident is when you look beyond the medical expenses and into a mirror that reminds you you’ve changed the way you appear to yourself and others for the rest of your life?

Michael: Go Short Old Man

Cool noon whisperings;
Close your eyes, lie still, enjoy
My soothing caress.

Sunday, October 15, 2017

This is an exciting and fortunate time for me. I’m recovering at the right time from a bicycle accident that could’ve been a lot worse.

It’s the right time because it’s October, the last month of the rainy season here. I just finished a series of ultras in the states and have months to plan and train for shorter events in the California this upcoming summer. So backing off a bit while I recover hasn’t hurt.

I’m fortunate because as I approach 60, I’m in excellent health and in a position to train and compete at a high level in my age group.

It’s exciting because unlike many events in life, I can’t rationalize putting off until tomorrow. By that I mean if I want to perform at a high standard in my new age group, now is the time. As the years pass I won’t be able to turn back the clock and ask for a do over. It’s now or never.

And that gives weight to decisions and makes training and competing more intriguing.

My plan is to hit the short stuff first; racing between a mile and up to 25ks.
I figure that way I’ll have a good year of form training under my belt before I tackle longer events the following year.

But maybe that’s backwards, and I’d be better off attacking ultras first then stepping into speed work. There’s only one way to find out and there’s also no going back. That’s why I’m really looking forward to turning 60 and discovering if I’m taking the right approach to competing in this new age group.

Michael: Update on the Fuel Belt Uno

Afternoon showers
Are the baptismal waters
God promised the earth.

Friday, October 13, 2017

A few months ago I wrote how disappointed I was in the Fuel Belt Uno as a race pack. I used it at the Peak Marathon in San Diego and it wouldn’t stay on my hips and kept floating up to my waist. Because of that for the Los Pinos 50k a few months later I used a Naked Band and was very pleased with it. That’s what I’ll be using in long races from here on out.

But for the past several weeks I’ve been using the Fuel Belt on training runs, and have discovered that my initial regrets were pre-mature. For whatever reasons, it’s been sitting comfortably lower than it did during the Peak Marathon. Perhaps it’s newness or my race nerves caused me to cinch it too tight or change my stride in such a way as to cause it to move.

So now I feel a bit irritated with myself for being so quick to knock it and replace it without taking the time and thoughtfulness to discover it wasn’t necessarily the pack’s design that was at fault. Mea Culpa.

It’s, at least for me, a fine 1 1/2 hour training pack that would also be useful under certain race conditions. For most long races though I’ll still be using the Naked Band or a vest. But that isn’t to knock the Fuel Belt Uno. It’s working for me and I’m very happy that I didn’t toss it in the give away pile.

Michael: Cayo

Metal roof raindrops
Rise to a long crescendo
Before they're silent.

Thursday, October 12, 2017

One of the first cars I had was a dull green Nova. I’m not sure when I found out that ‘no va’ in Spanish translates to ‘no go’, but I’m sure I found that more amusing than Chevy did.

Since I’ve had my bike, a Focus Cayo, we’ve experienced three crashes together in three years, but it wasn’t until this last crash that I thought there may be an amusing link between my bike’s name and my high rate of crashes. Close but no cigar; in Spanish ‘caer’ is the verb to fall and ‘caido’ means ‘ I fall’.

However, while we were watching Seinfeld this week I noticed George talking about someone who fell and saw the translation ‘cayo’ in the subtitles. I looked it up and wouldn’t you know it, ‘cayo’ is the past tense of fall and means ‘he fell’.

Now that’s amusing.

If I were rich I might consider replacing my bike, but I’m not and the bike is a great bike, if not for the amusing moniker. But I’m sure next time round I’ll do a bit more research into any amusing translations of any bike I’m considering buying. At the moment that dream machine would be a Cannondale CAAD 12. Even without any translation the CAAD implies ‘cad’, which does have it’s own negative denotation in English, but for some reason I kind of like that.

Michael: Removal

Thunderous rainstorms
Crack the surface of the earth
With a vicious blow.

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

Having my stitches removed was a far more easier, convenient and less costly process than getting them.

To begin with, for this procedure I made an appointment; for 4 p.m. at the local clinic where Doctora Morales works on Mondays. And when I walked in at 4 I didn’t even have to sit down and wait. I was taken right into her office. After a brief consultation of about 10 minutes she proceeded to remove my stitches. It wasn’t completely painless but compared to getting the stitches …That took about 30 minutes.

At the hospital I was guessing that I had received between 30-40 stitches. Dra. Morales said she removed 26, but that doesn’t include the dissolving sutures I received, so really not a bad guess given my amateur status.

She also proscribed a topical anti-biotic/scar preventative. Thus, the cost of the visit was $20 for the procedure and $15 for the medication, bringing my grand total so far to $555.00. I still have a dental visit to go before I’m through.

Michael: Forced Periodization

Metal roof raindrops
Rise to a long crescendo
Before they’re silent.

Monday, October 9, 2017

Perhaps due to age, perhaps under my wife’s influence, I’m not sure, but sometimes my cynical side is overcome by an “always look on the bright side of life…”, optimism that was foreign to my personality not so long ago. Case in point - seeing my reduced activity due to injury as having a bright side.

As an athlete, I’ve always been a bit skeptical of programs that promoted periodization. But for sure, as an older athlete, I’m fearful of not touching base with speed, strength, endurance, balance and mobility at least once every week. I just don’t feel at this age I can afford to neglect any area of fitness and expect to get something back after a prolonged lay off.

That’s why any injury is a very depressing threat to my well being. Fortunately, this time round I only hurt my face. But it’s still going to require a few weeks of easing up a bit. Basically, for three reasons; 1, my replacement helmet won’t arrive from the states for a few weeks. 2, I can’t drink out of a bottle just yet without drooling all over myself like Elaine in Seinfeld when she thought she had rabies, and 3, I’m going to limit my sun exposure until my skin has healed well enough not to scar.

After a week lay-off, I have pretty much resumed my routine, though on a partially indoors and more limited basis. And if there is a good month to cut back a little and go indoors in the highlands of Panama, it’s October; the rainiest month of the year. And it’s not that I’m against flexing a workout routine based on upcoming events, but to periodize significantly or routinely just doesn’t work for me. So I’m anxious to see how this 3 week cut back will effect me or how long it’ll take for me to rebound and get back to where I was before my accident. Part of me is afraid, and part of me is telling me it may bring back a little verve to getting back outside. I’m trying to lean toward the verve side.

Michael: Doing Drugs

 Indigo blue skies
randomly dotted with stars
tells you where you are.

Sunday, October 8, 2017

If anyone asked, I’d say I don’t do drugs and usually wouldn’t feel any need to qualify that except on those rare occasions, like now, when I’ve been prescribed them from a doctor due to an injury.

I don’t know why, but I’ve always had a fear of drugs. Unlike Clinton, I can with a straight face, not only say that I never inhaled, but I’ve never put a doobie between my lips or knowingly ingested marijuana in any way, shape or form. That goes along with any other drug concocted after the late 60s.

Except, as I said like now, when I’ve been injured. Heck, I stopped drinking after a bad hangover in high school, and have only drank enough to get a little tipsy after that once in college.

And after today, after taking the last capsule of Cetalepan; the anti-biotic I was prescribed ( I finished off the NSAID - Supradol, a couple of days ago.), I can gladly go back to saying I don’t do drugs and not feel the need to qualify that statement or feeling guilty about telling a little white lie.

Michael: Indoors

The butterfly shell
Clings lifelessly to the ground
Wings moved by the breeze.

Saturday, October 7, 2017

Even more so than Southern California, there’s almost no excuse to not to get outside and move everyday here. That’s why I haven’t used my indoor bike trainer in over three years.

 I did ship it over when we shipped our container from the states because it didn’t take up much space, so why not? But oddly, I brought it to our casita from a trip back from reorganizing our storage unit here, even though by then I’d been here long enough to know it wasn’t very likely I was going to use it.  So for over 6 months it’s been sitting in a corner in our upstairs loft collecting dust.

But now, since I can’t ride outside until my wounds heal and my new helmet gets here from the states, I dusted it off and also took out an old packet of discs and decided I’d do the first indoor workout I came across - a CTS training video titled, “Hill Climbing II.”

And surprisingly, I really enjoyed it and also learned a lot about what I’ve been neglecting about my cycling training these past few years. Mainly, I learned that I’ve really lost touch with my cadence. I don’t have a cyclometer with a cadence function on my bicycle and have never taken the time to count revolutions while I ride outdoors. But when I lived in SoCal I rode on the trainer enough to keep in touch with my cadence and keep it at a good 85 rpm. But last Thursday on the trainer I noticed that over the years of outdoor riding only I’ve slipped to under 80 rpms.

So that’s what my focus will be on for this next month of indoor recovery; bringing my cadence back up.

Smashing my face so I have to workout indoors wouldn’t have been my preferred way of discovering this lapse in training, but as the saying goes, when life give you lemons, squeeze them into your wounds so it stings like hell so you’ll learn something and hopefully won’t be such a dumb shit again.

Michael: Clint Rides into Town

The low grey ceiling
Despite the warmth of the day
Creates a cool mood.

Friday, October 6, 2017

One problem Kimme and I faced during this crash was communication, and I’m not referring to not speaking Spanish, but our having problems speaking to each other.

No, not those kind of problems… We actually are pretty fond of one another and for the most part enjoy talking to each other too much. But Kimme’s phone doesn’t have a local sim card so in order for us to talk by phone our neighbor and landlord loaned her one of hers.

The funny thing about that, and again one of those entertaining coincidences, was that while I was laying in the hospital, at times I wondered if the stitches were going to leave any scarring and if it did I was floating between the scenes in Unforgiven where Clint’s friend is giving him stitches and when Clint is talking to the victim of a knife attack about being scarred. I was hoping that if I do have scars that it’ll give me a more rugged handsome look like Clint’s.

And wouldn’t you know it, while Kimme was visiting her phone rang and the ring tone was from one of Clint’s old spaghetti westerns.

And speaking of our landlord, Luzmila…Not only was she kind enough to loan Kimme her phone and drive her back and forth between Volcan and David, when I went to pay rent as a gesture of compassion and understanding of what an unexpected costs can do to a person’s budget, she also cut $40 off our rent.

Michael: Virtually Indestructable

The preying mantis
With its enticing leaf wings
Lays a deadly trap.

Thursday, October 5, 2017

Yesterday we walked to the hospital to pick up my bike and once again my bike has proven it’s extraordinarily adept at using me as a human shield. The only damages are the brake levers were moved and the bar has some small scratches.

Thus, the only non-medical causalities from my accident are my helmet and my sunglasses. And even at that the sunglasses may be fine but they’re missing in action. The helmet I’ll need to replace and fortunately I found the same model, a Giro Foray, at Nashbar for only $60. I’ll get it in the Hi Viz version this time out instead of the basic black and white that saved my noggin this time round. I have another spare set of sunglasses so need to anti up for another pair at the moment.

Even most of my kit came away almost unscathed. There’s a small tear in my jersey that I could live with, but I’m not going to. I’m going to splurge just a little and get an inexpensive one from Nashbar just as a little present to myself for being so lucky. I’ll also replace the gloves, which were pretty old and on their way out anyway. My bibs are fine. And my arm sleeves, one of which has a decent amount of blood on it, I may still use as a reminder to keep my head up and focused at all times.

Stupidity followed by good luck. Not the best combination in the world, but better than that song line, “If I didn’t have bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all.”

Michael: Coincidence?

Relentless tear drops
Fall from the merciless sky
With a cold vengeance.

Wednesday, October 4, 2017

Lying in a hospital bed for over 24 hours gave me plenty of time to finish the short book I was reading; Training With a Seal. It was an enjoyable quick read about an executive’s outrageous month of subjecting himself to the on demand training orders of a Navy Seal.

After coming home from the hospital I was browsing Sribd looking for my next book to read while I recuperate at home. The title I came across that got me to open up the summary page was Fear. After this crash I thought that would be a good subject to explore since it’s going to probably be over a month before I take my bike out on the road again and I know that being overly fearful can be as dangerous as being overly cavalier when it comes to the dangers of riding.

At the same time I’ve been hearing a lot of buzz about a new documentary series by Ken Burns about the Vietnam War. As my dad was there and I grew up during those turbulent years, I thought I’d put that on my recovery watch list.

Now here’s the coincidence part; the book and series cross paths very early on. While I was watching episode 2 a Buddhist monk starts talking about the monk protest in Vietnam. That monk’s name is placed below him while he talks and, you guessed it, it’s the author of the book I just started to read.

Not that I think of it as anything more than a very amusing coincidence, but imagine the odds of that title being placed at this time on the suggested reading page of Scribd coinciding with the timing of the airing of the author on the documentary, along with my crashing and then choosing both of them at the time of my recovery?

Michael: The Cost

The rose colored sky
Will forever pass us by
So enjoy it now.

Tuesday, October 3, 2017

One of my main concerns about returning to the states is health care cost. That’s been one of the big benefits of living in Panama. But up until this crash we really hadn’t experienced the cost of health care outside of routine doctor visits and basic dental care. And we’ve been very pleased with both the care and the cost of our local doctor and dentist.

But this crash exposed me to the cost of trauma care here. I’m not going to try and weight the scale of the relative quality of care I received as I don’t feel I’m qualified to do that. In the states during the few times I had to receive urgent treatment, or care beyond a routine check up, I was working and had health insurance. I was very pleased with the care I received under those circumstances. But I have no idea what care or cost people in the states without insurance receive or what they would pay for treatment for an accident similar to what I just went through. Similarly, I have no idea what kind of care people with private health care insurance receive here or what their out of pocket costs would be. With those caveats stated, I’m just going to put out what my care was here. That’s the costs for a person without insurance being treated at a public hospital.

First off their was the cost of the two x-rays, accompanying CD and ambulance transport from the hospital in Volcan to the hospital in David; $6.

At the David hospital where I stayed for a day and a half I was charged approximately $350. That costs included the stay, the trauma care where I received multiple stitches to my face, three liquid meals (others did receive solid food, but the condition of my mouth would only allow for liquids.), two nurses visits to take blood pressure, heart rate and temperature readings,  three I.V. treatments of serum and anti-biotics, transport to and from another local hospital to have three C.T. scans, the three C.T. scans, a brief consultation with a doctor about the results of my scans, and three written prescriptions from that doctor; one for an anti-inflammatory, one for an anti-biotic, and one to have my stitches removed in a week.

The two drug prescriptions we had filled at a local pharmacy costs $55. The drugs are 500 mg. tablets of Cetalepan which I’m suppose to take every 8 hours for a week, and 30 mg. tablets of Supradol which I’m suppose to take every 12 hours for a week.
I don’t know yet what the cost will be to have my stitches removed. I also have a chipped tooth that I’ll have my dentist look at as soon as the swelling in my mouth goes down.

That brings the total to date to just a little over $410.

We’ve been told that we could’ve set up a payment plan as that cost could be a bit overwhelming for a poor Panamanian, but we paid out of pocket so have no idea how a payment plan would be set up or how payments would be made. But I’m almost positive it would be done by going to the hospital and paying cash in person.

I’m not going to google what the costs would’ve been for similar treatment in the states. I wouldn’t even think about returning to the states without first having a plan to have at least basic health care insurance and supplemental emergency care coverage. Three years ago, right before we left California, our Bronze plan and an additional emergency care plan was costing us about $350 a month.

Michael: Prognosis

Hazy through the clouds
The stars and planets soft lights
Are lazy and weak.

Monday, October 2, 2017

This morning when I took out the trash and was taking Luna out for her morning stroll, my neighbor, Ramon, asked how I was doing. He also asked if I were going to ride a bike again.

I told him I was fine. The accident was completely my fault, and yes, in about a month I plan to ride again.

But it is odd to me that even though I only had a few minor motorcycle accidents in the over 30 years I drove them, I always felt that there would come a time when I knew it would be best to stop. And although I’ve had multiple bicycle accidents, 4 in the last 3 years in Panama, that have caused several injuries, it hasn’t occurred to me, up until now, to consider whether I still have the capacity to ride a bike safely.

Given that this last accident, and a similar accident I had several years back, were completely due to my mind wandering, you’d think that I’d be questioning whether I’ve lost the ability to sustain my focus enough to make it safe to ride.

For some instinctual reason I’m not feeling that it’s time to step away like I felt when I sold my last motorcycle. In fact now, and days before the crash, my fantasy rotation research arrow that spins between running shoes and apparel, house plans, and bicycles, was flush in the bicycle pie slice of the graph.

And it’s not that having come through multiple crashes with only minor injuries, I somehow feel I’m invincible. I know how incredibly fortunate I am and how with just a few subtle changes in all the many variables involved in crashes, that I could’ve easily sustained permanent disabling injuries.

But it’s going to be at least a month before I ride outside again. And next time out I may carry a few, literally in my face, reminders about the necessity to constantly maintain my awareness on the ride.

Yet even now I feel extraordinarily fortunate and am grateful to be in the position to own a high quality bike and be blessed with the time and inclination to get outside for hours on end on almost a weekly basis and experience the joys of riding.

Michael: A Rookie Mistake

This present moment
Stop and enjoy the wonder
Of every breath.

Sunday, October 1, 2017

It’s 7 p.m. and I’m sitting here in the community hospital in David trying to pass the time until I can call Kimme to see if she made it home. Our neighbor and landlord, Luzmilla, was kind enough to bring her to the hospital and wait while she visited with me for a few hours before driving her home.

I’ve never spent the night in a hospital before and spending the night here in a room with 5 other men of various ages and in various stages of illness, none of whom speak my language, I suspect isn’t going to be very restful.

The accident that brought me here was totally my fault and was completely avoidable. I made the rookie mistake of looking down to clip into my bicycle pedals when I was having trouble clipping in. my few seconds of inattentiveness was enough to cause me not to see the slight curve in the road and by the time I did look up I was headed down a short embankment onto the dirt path a few feet below. When I hit I went over the bars and smashed my face into the ground.

Fortunately, a good Samaritan couple stopped and took me and my bike in their SUV to the local hospital in Volcan. I’ve face planted once before so I presumed I was bleeding pretty profusely and wasn’t a very pretty sight. Whoever you people are, I hope I can pick your car out in town someday and properly thank you.

The local hospital in our small town in Volcan is only about a year old and isn’t completely operational yet. When I came in on a Thursday afternoon there wasn’t any staff that could help me so they called an ambulance to come and transport me to the hospital in David. They did take a couple of x-rays that they put on a disc for me to take with me. They also secured my bike in a locked storage area.

The ombudsman, who spoke decent English, was a very kind older man who came through every now and then to check up on me. Otherwise there was no attempt to clean me up or deal with my injuries. I did ask for a cloth and ice packet which they were kind enough to provide and I held that against my face until the ambulance arrived.

Kimme has been through a few accidents with me, and like me, she stays pretty calm through these events. When she came to the hospital and I told her they were going to transport me to David, but that the ambulance wouldn’t be here anytime soon, she went back home and gathered up a few things then returned with our neighbor and landlord, Luzmilla, who was kind enough to drive her back and forth since we don’t have a car.
While she was gone a man in a casual shirt walked in whom I presumed was the ambulance driver. I asked if he could wait a minute until my wife arrived. He didn’t mind. What struck me about him was what I would call a typical Panamanian encounter. When he walked into the hospital he was carrying a brand new fan belt which I presumed was for the ambulance.

After Kimme arrived he wheeled me out to the ambulance. There I was joined by an indigenous woman with her sick child and a nurse. There wasn’t space for Kimme to ride with us so she and Luzmilla would follow and meet me at the hospital. That was my first ambulance ride.

At the hospital I was quickly taken into the trauma center where a very calm and young doctor who spoke very good English, Dr. DeGrasso, would clean and stitch me up. This wasn’t the first time I ever had stitches, but it was the first time I could remember. The other time I had stitches was for a very small gash right in my eyebrow when I was 4 years old. I have no memory of that, but I know I’ll never forget this time round. Nor will I forget my first ambulance ride nor my first over night hospital stay.

AARP and others are sporadically reminding me that new experiences help keep us young, but just like any other cliché or pearls of wisdom, there are exceptions, and I’m not so sure all these surprising first this accident has me going through is all that much of a youth elixir. But its been interesting. That’s for sure.  

Michael: Falling Into an Upgrade

The clickety clack
Of her nails across the floor
Tell us she’s moving.

Sunday, October 1, 2017

Before I was stitched up a nurse gestured to me that she would help me remove my bicycle kit. Problem was I didn’t have any underwear on. At this hospital the way they resolve that problem is to create a big diaper for you out of a bed sheet.

Naturally, while I was focused on the pain and very tiny fish hook that was being used to stitch me up, I didn’t give the diaper a thought. But once the Dr. was done and they wheeled me out into the hallway, the cumbersomeness and heat of the Baby Huey diaper began to annoy me.

Fortunately, before they transported me from the hospital in Volcan to the hospital in David, Kimme had time to go home and fill a backpack with a few items I could use to make my hospital stay more comfortable. One of those items being my pajama bottoms.

Once I was out of the trauma center they wheeled me right outside and up against the trauma room door. Where I was now was very close to the observation room where many very weak elderly patients were hooked up to I.V.s and heart rate monitors. I wasn’t quite put in with them as a doctor/nurse station was caddy corner to the trauma center near the head side of my gurney. So I was separated from the ill elderly beds by an invisible corridor that the doctors and nurses used to walk to and from the trauma center on one side and the observation room and other two waiting room opposite the trauma center.

This is where Kimme first met me with the goodie backpack she had brought from home. Shortly thereafter I decided to replace the diaper with my pajama bottoms. So as not to expose myself I laid the bottoms on the gurney and attempted to slide into them. Not having much experience with gurneys, I didn’t realize that it would basically function as a very slow moving see-saw and once I had inched far enough past the balancing point it would tilt earthward. It did. While it was dropping to the ground I must have twisted to my right to try to reach for my I.V. pole to both brace myself and to stop the needle from being ripped out of my arm. At least as far as that goes, I was successful, but the gurney, the I.V. stand and I did go crashing to the floor. That brought a few shrieks of excitement from some of the other patients.

Kimme and I knew I was all right, but they didn’t put me back on the gurney. They took that away and brought a wheel chair to take me to the male waiting room across from the trauma center. I was placed in a bed against the wall nearest the door. There were three other beds, two chairs and the men’s bathroom in this room.

I have no idea where I would’ve ended up if I hadn’t of fallen, but I was happy for the upgrade. I very much hope to avoid going to the hospital in the future but if I do, I don’t intend to use the falling off the gurney ploy to get a change of scenery.

Michael: You Should See the Other Guy

Agua, por favor
The old man relentlessly
Cried out through the night.

Saturday, September 30, 2017

Today in the morning light I finally got a good look at what smashing my face into the ground had done to what once was, in my semi-humble opinion, a pretty decent looking face. It wasn’t pretty now, though it pretty much was what I expected.

Shockingly, I was fortunate in that my face has once again made it through without a broken bone. I do a have chipped tooth and a small bone chip in my neck, which isn’t bad relatively speaking.

And once again I have to give credit to a helmet for taking a large brunt of the impact and sparing me from what could’ve been prolonged and crippling damage. So again, for all you kids out there…

Last time I made a similar mistake of inattentiveness I escaped with just some cuts and swollen lips and nose. This time I added the experience of a couple dozen stitches just to see if I could conjure up what that was like after all these years. As a 4 year old, I ran into a chair and had to have a couple of stitches in my eyebrow. So little Michael, I can now relate to the pain you went through. Thursday, I added quite a bit more stitches to the facial repertoire along my nose and right under it. There’s also a few dissolving sutures inside my mouth so eating won’t be as problematic.

And the experienced reinforced my opinion of doctors as being one of the more honest and admirable professions. When the doctor said he it was going to hurt when he injected me with a disinfectant before he stitched me up, he was usually right on the money. In fact I’d say he was even being a bit modest in using the word ‘hurt’ at times. At one point a small tear of pain rolled out of the corner of my eye. It’s about as close to crying as I’ve come through physical trauma. Chalk another one up to for the Old Marine Drill Sear gent of a dad.

It was also quite an experience to literally get a right under my nose close up view of the stitching procedure. When I was a kid a lot of us kids would look down our noses to cross our eyes. I wish I would of thought of that instead of looking at the doctor’s bloody fingers as he prepared to put that little fish hook through me more times than I thought I was going to be able to tolerate.

The stitches look well done to me but we’ll just have to wait and see as the doc said it would take a couple of months to heal completely. I’m hoping for a grizzled “He really kicked the shit out of me, didn’t he?” William Muny/Clint Eastwood Unforgiven macho old guy look that would in no way match my reticent personality. But who knows? Maybe after being somewhat of a wimp all these years that’ll change if my soul wants to play the rest of my life in touch with it’s new outward physical representation. So watch out you Little Bill runners out there, I’m coming for you and not for what you did to my friend but just for the hell of it.

The last thing I’ll note about the stitching procedure was a kind of funny translation incident. Many of the doctors here speak some English and the trauma doctor, Dr. DeGrasso, who laced me up, English was very good. Except that one of the first questions he asked me was, “Were you out of your mind?” I paused just for a second but figured he must mean, “Was I ever unconscious?” Just for a split second I thought to answer with something sarcastic like, ‘Isn’t it obvious?’, but wisely thought the wiser of it as I doubt he’d get the joke and causing him to waist precious time would rightly be enough of an irritant to cause him to not be so careful stitching my face back together.

Michael: Two Steps Forward

On dusty black wings
Bold blue and mild lemon tips
Enchant the ladies.

Wednesday, September 27, 2017

The way I was taught history was that humans have pretty much made steady progress at improving our condition since the get go. As a kid that seemed reasonable enough, but as an adult cold reality tells you otherwise; and I’m not even talking on a grand hurricane global warming scale, or the disaster of a setback our current ranter in chief is.

No, simply the swings in improvements and breakdowns in life’s little seemingly mundane technologies is enough to convince me that a lot of where we’re at is a crapshoot and our lives are better in some ways sometimes and worse in others every once in a while as well.

The example that’s irritating me at the moment here in Panama is the water pressure. It was meek when we got here and has now been at the dismal mark for at least half a year. That’s probably the last time we were able to take a warm shower without using our pressure pump. And it’s not like we’re going through a drought or even anything close to it. We’re getting hit by as much rain as ever. But as more houses go up in town, we on the outskirts are feeling the effects of a municipal water system that wasn’t designed for the expansion and isn’t planning on upgrading anytime soon.

Michael: A Little More Fearful

Butter butterfly
As large as my outstretched hand
Glides into the sun.

Monday, September 25, 2017

A few weeks ago to pass the time on the flight between Panama and L.A., I re-watched Little Miss Sunshine. I love that movie and particularly Alan Arkin’s grandpa character. His approach to old age is “What the hell? What’ve I got to lose, so why not?” Old age is the time to let loose and live without restraint.

But as much as that approach plays well in the movie, I find it hard to not counter balance that feeling of let it all hang loose with a thoughtful trepidation. I like the sound of that a lot better than fear.

So today Kimme and I went on a two hour reconnaissance bus ride because I’ve been away and it’s been raining pretty heavily and I wanted to check out the hilly, windy road from Volcan to Rio Sereno.

Now if I were half the age I am now, I doubt I would’ve done a road reconnaissance. But I’ve had a few crashes since then and I no longer have that damned the torpedoes, full speed ahead approach to the unknowns that bike rides can throw at you. Fortunately, I’ve always come out of my mummy wraps not looking to worse for wear, but I’m always a little fearful that the next time they bandage me up, I won’t be as pretty afterwards, or maybe they’ll just keep the wrappings and I’ll end up living the rest of my life looking and feeling like the English Patient.

Mind you (That’s an old man way to begin a sentence, isn’t it?), I still enjoy the speed of a bicycle but I don’t mind admitting that I scrub a little more speed off the bike before going through turns and I’m even sitting up and braking a bit on long downhill straights that I would, in my youth, tuck into full aero to see what numbers I could hit on the speedometer.

So no, I’m not a let her rip, snort some coke, Little Miss Grandpa old dude. And for now I can live with that, and not worry too much that the creeping caution I’ve embraced as I’ve gotten older has changed my basic character or what I enjoy doing.